


run away with us for the summer

by annperkinsface



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annperkinsface/pseuds/annperkinsface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's summer and Alexander is not here, but Angelica is, and it more than makes up for the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	run away with us for the summer

It's summer and Alexander is not here, but Angelica is, and it more than makes up for the difference. Their eyes met across the parlor and her heart tripped sideways, her dearest Angelica in the flesh, no body of water separating them, only the floor beneath their feet. Her sister, returned to her at last, and even now Eliza keeps a hand fastened about Angelica's arm, like her touch is the only thing preventing her from melting into thin air.

"I've missed you," she says it like a secret, like she hadn't scattered tear stained parchment just trying to scratch out that first fumbling, ineffectual letter. Words never come as easy as they do now, walking with her sister beneath the trees, not too far from their father's estate. She's no Alexander. She cannot work spells.

Her words, meager though they are, make Angelica smile, squeeze her hand. "And I've missed you," says Angelica. "Oh, Eliza. You can't know how much."

She immediately wants to protest— _every farewell is another crack in my heart; oh Angelica, every time you leave I'm so splintered, so lonely_ —and Alexander hardly any help at all, just as bereft as she, but shoving it down, down, waiting for her tears to stop soaking his shoulder, for when the night turns dark and she and the children are asleep and there is a quill at last in hand, and the next day he'll paraphrase his dramatically mournful accusations to Eliza in the hopes of a flicker of a smile—but one look at Angelica's face and she's drawn up short. She can scarcely imagine the depths of her sister's suffering, all alone on the other side of the Atlantic.

"Perhaps I can't." The sun is high in the sky, the dappled light catching in Angelica's curls, and Eliza blinks the heat prickling her eyes away, heart full to bursting. "But you're here now, hm?"

And Eliza grins and picks up the pace while Angelica gasps, forced along in her wake.

"Steady, love! Unless you want to write a letter to Alexander about twisting your ankle on a stroll of all things!" But she's clinging to Eliza's arm, laughing all the while.

"I won't tell him if you don't," Eliza says, and it's a promise.

 

 

 

 

 

Angelica, age seven, basks in her namesake's presence. She dogs her heels, glowing like a miniature sun, and when Phillip starts teasing her about it, the elder Angelica makes a habit of pulling her aside and conferring in exaggeratedly hushed whisper. They giggle behind their hands, looking pointedly away from Phillip, whose curiosity eventually becomes all too much. "Sorry," the younger Angelica chirps while the elder smiles beatifically, "Angelica's only!"

It's terrible, but Eliza has to smother a smile when Phillip walks off in a huff, book of poetry in hand, cloistering himself in the window seat on the far side of the room. She vows to make it up to him and also have a word with him about teasing his sister.

"What about Eliza's?" she asks, when they've joined her on the sofa, sitting on either side. Her daughter's giggling has not ceased; face flushed, hair a riot of curls. Eliza doesn't think they could've named her any better.

Angelica tips her head back, trying to squint up at her, but she's halfway into laughing already. "I don't know, Mama. I love you but you're not an Angelica!"

"I think we can make an exception for your Mama, hm?" Her sister smiles; nostalgic. "We were the Schuyler sisters before she was your Mama, you know."

"We still are," Eliza says. Things had changed, but that would always be true. The one constant in her world: her love for her sister and her sister's love for her.

"That's right." Angelica's face gone soft and fond. "Even if we aren't sneaking into the city to get a taste of revolution."

Eliza laughs. "I thought you were looking for a mind at work?"

Angelica swats at her like she would a fly but she's fighting a grin. "Oh, hush!"

"I guess it's okay then," the younger Angelica says magnanimously, and even Phillip, hell bent on ignoring their presence, has to let out a snort.

"So gracious," Eliza says, bopping her daughter's nose. Her sister burrows her face against Eliza's neck, shaking with laughter. She wraps her arms around both Angelica's, pulls them close.

Heart so full that it aches a little.

Eliza was always happiest among those she loves best.

 

 

 

 

 

Her thoughts turn to Alexander, all alone in the city, and Eliza worries over him, wonders if he's eating, getting enough sleep. He's so very good at neglecting himself after all. A cruel voice whispers _neglecting them_ but Eliza feigns deafness, tries to pretend it is not her own.

She seats herself to write to him but she has none of her husband's fervor. Before Alexander, the written word never inspired a sort of hopelessness in her. Letter writing was not an act she particularly liked or disliked, but then his sentences spellbound her; left her dizzied. It was suddenly important in a way it never was before, and Eliza would sit by the glow of the lantern, wishing she was better read, that she could paint her heart in all its varieties of shade like he wanted.

Her words, like everything with Alexander, are just never enough.

"That's your third one," Angelica observes. She crept in a little past midnight and laughed to find Eliza up and at the writing desk. _Why_ , she'd drawled, smile a slow curl, leaning back against the doorjamb, _isn't this familiar._

Eliza looks at her sister, watching intently from the bed. It's like a scene straight from their girlhood, Angelica in her nightclothes, lying on her stomach, hands laced under chin. She has to stop herself from looking for Peggy.

"It's silly, isn't it?" Angelica can read her heart so easily, and Eliza looks away, feeling it climb up her throat. She sets down her quill with a swallow. "I'm a little jealous, you know."

Silence.

"Truly, I'm glad you love each other so well. I'm not hurt or threatened. It's just—" Black stains the groove of her thumb when she rubs the parchment between her fingers. The ink hasn't dried, and Eliza stares at the newly smudged words, feeling very small and foolish. "It's hard," she says. "Writing. I could never do what he does, or what you do, and it's hard not to feel inadequate by comparison."

Her eyes burn so she closes them. The bed creaks and Eliza opens her eyes at the touch of hands. Angelica kneels at Eliza's feet, holding them tightly, smile as soft as she's ever seen it.

"Your letters are a godsend, you know," she whispers. "A welcome contrast to that husband of yours. You don't need to dress up your words for anybody. They're perfect the way they are."

"Meager? Fumbling?"

"Beautiful," says Angelica. "True."

Eliza lets out a tearful laugh.

"Honestly, Eliza, doesn't your husband extol your virtues enough already? Don't make me write a strongly worded letter about perpetuating crippling self-doubt."

"You're both so dramatic," Eliza mutters, but she's smiling weakly. "I told you it was silly."

"Mhm," Angelica says. "I think I'm going to write that letter all the same."

 

 

 

 

 

And so the summer passes: walks with Angelica, piano with Phillip, little Angelica struggling to braid flowers into Eliza's hair, letters from a husband repentant enough for her sister's tastes, who teases her over blushing over one of them for _days_.

And, in no time at all, it's almost Angelica's last day. Angelica insists on going to the lake and she and her sister hang back and watch Phillip try to show little Angelica how to skip stones.

Angelica fans herself. "I'll say this about good ol London. Summers aren't quite as miserable."

"Perhaps we should come visit you then," Eliza says, but her heart isn't in it. _You belong with your family_ , she thinks. But that's uncharitable of her. Mr. Church is family now too.

"Perhaps." Angelica sighs gustily. "Oh, Eliza. I wish I could take you all with me."

Eliza has to smile. "Even the children? Dear as they are, I think they would drive you up the wall if you had to deal with them every season."

"You and Angelica then. Couldn't abandon my little namesake. We can stow Peggy away too; have England tremble in fear with us Schuyler girls all on the same coast."

"I don't think the world is ready for that just yet," Eliza says, smiling really and truly, because this ridiculous creature is her sister, and she loves her more than anything.

"They will be," Angelica says, hugging Eliza to her side. "Just you wait."

**Author's Note:**

> what is historical accuracy tbh. this fic is all about the sister feelings. and me looping take a break 50385 times. 
> 
> 1.) [this](http://founders.archives.gov/?q=Recipient%3A%22Church%2C%20Angelica%22&s=1111311111&r=4) enclosed note from eliza to angelica was kind of the driving motivation for a lot of my writing as well as it being the CUTEST thing in the world my god. she literally ends with 'i can no more' WHAT KIND OF HEARTBROKEN SWEETHEART
> 
> 2.) ham was so self congratulatory on doing the bare minimum of comforting eliza in his letter to angelica lmfao i just could not let go of him sucking at comforting her and then doing his ott needy letter thing and then trying to cheer up his wife by talking about his sad flirty letter 2 her sis. if he were married to anyone else istg.
> 
> 3.) 'paint her heart in all its varieties of shade' is paraphrasing from a letter from ham to eliza where he was, once again, whining at her to write him MORE god betsey let a needy man know how you feel. 'give me the picture of your heart in all its varieties of light and shade' was the exact quote i believe
> 
> 4.) there's this great quote from ron chernow that i'm obsessed with where he says eliza resonated with him so deeply because of his own wife and he described both of them as 'beautiful. true.' i stole that shamelessly for this fic because it's how i feel about actual angel eliza schuyler okay!!!!
> 
> i can't believe i wrote an extensive author's note for a fic that is literally only 1k sorry y'all lmfao


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